A/N: Posting a little earlier than I planned, because I've got to go be a bridesmaid in a friend's wedding this weekend! Plus, we've had beautiful, summer, 80 degree weather across the midwest, so life is good! I hope you all have a wonderful weekend, and if you've been reading, but haven't left a review yet, please do! I'd love to hear from you!
It took Bob even longer to find her another foster family, and she ended up staying at another group home for the rest of the summer. It was awful.
The wife reminded Sara of a quieter, meeker version of her own mother, obviously battered, but choosing to stay silent and suck up the abuse. They had eight foster kids, boys and girls, young and old, and the husband hit them all.
They were one of the couples that pressed makeup over everyone's bruises before caseworker visits, and told them to smile or else. The home that could just barely pass off being a happy, normal home, when in fact Sara had begun getting used to feeling the sting on her face.
Staying in that home shut her up real fast. She didn't talk to any of the other kids. She'd disappear for hours on end, just wandering around or trying to find something to do, because she knew no one would care. She grew stony, because only stone wouldn't chip.
At some point, she gave up. On caring. On almost everything, but the beginning of the school year was rapidly approaching. She had been absolutely stubborn on the fact that she wanted to transfer to another district. But when mid-August came around, she started having to decide between the worst of two evils – going back to the school with all those kids who knew Jeremy, or staying in the group home, and possibly not going to school at all.
Fortunately, Bob came by the home exactly one week before the start of the new school year and told her he'd found her a suitable home. Bill and Marjorie West were both in their sixties. They had one child, a grown son, and though they particularly liked playing chess in the garden outside and going to Bingo night on Wednesdays, they wanted to have a kid in their home again. A month away from fourteen, Sara wanted to argue she was hardly a kid, but her relief for finally finding someplace to stay made her bite her tongue.
Yet, on the car ride to her next home, she didn't feel excited or hopeful. She really didn't feel much at all. She kept her head tilted back against the seat, slumped down a little, arms crossed in front of her. She had really tried hard not to become 'that' kid, that stereotypical foster kid, but she'd seen and heard and faced too much.
When Bob pulled the van into the West's drive, she saw the couple standing hand-in-hand in the doorway, a huge banner that read, 'Welcome!', hanging above them. Sara pulled her suitcases – the same ones Julia had given her all those years ago – from the backseat and made her way up the perfectly manicured walkway.
"Oh, hello, sweetheart," Marjorie exclaimed as she approached, and pulled her into a hug. "Oh, Bill, look how beautiful she is!"
Sara smiled politely. She didn't think there was anything beautiful about her pale skin, long legs and dark hair.
"Hello, dear," Bill greeted her cheerily, taking her suitcases. "Welcome to our home."
She was surprised to find that she was the only child there – foster or otherwise. That was a new experience for her. The West's house had four bedrooms, and they let her take her pick of the three empty ones. She chose the one with the beautiful French window that overlooked the backyard.
"Oh, Sara, we're so glad you're here," Marjorie exclaimed, hands clasped, as they set her suitcases down in her new room. "So many things to talk about… but, oh! We should let you unpack. What do you like to eat, sweetheart?"
"Um, just about anything, really."
"How about a pot roast?" she suggested. "We should do something special for your first night!"
"C'mon, dear, let's let Sara catch her breath," Bill said, his eyes twinkling. "Call us if you need anything."
Sara was exhausted by the end of dinner. She's answered so many of Marjorie's endless questions, she felt like she should have won a game show by now. All she wanted to do was retreat up to her room and pull out a chemistry book. She wanted to be ready when she started sophomore year next week.
But the Wests had other ideas. The moment Bill was done washing the dishes; she pulled out a pack of cards and asked Sara what she liked to play.
"I don't know," she said honestly. "I haven't played a card game since go fish."
"Oh, let's teach you something then," Marjorie exclaimed. "Hearts? Pinnacle?"
Bill wiped his hands on the dishtowel and hung it on the rack over the sink.
"No daughter of mine is going to play those froo-froo games," he said. "Break out the chips, dear, it's time for a poker lesson."
Sara's head snapped up at the word daughter. She'd been in this house less than four hours. Didn't these people know how the system worked? Didn't they realize that this was Sara's fifth… or sixth, she'd begun to lose count… home, and that she'd likely be gone in a year?
But Bill was grinning at her like he had no idea of the implication of what he'd just said. He merrily divided up the chips between himself, Sara and Marjorie, and launched into a lesson of five-card stud.
Two days before school, Marjorie bought her more clothes than would ever fit in her two suitcases. On her very first day as a sophomore in high school, she cooked her the biggest breakfast Sara had ever seen – eggs and toast and hash browns and sausage links and waffles and yogurt. She handed Sara a homemade lunch, and when she opened it a few hours later, she found a note inside.
Bill drove her to school every morning on his way to work, and told her how, when she turned fifteen, he'd teach her how to drive.
On September 16th, they took her out to dinner and then back home to the biggest stack of presents she'd ever called hers. When the last one was unwrapped – it was a journal – Marjorie disappeared into the kitchen, and when she came back, she was carrying an enormous chocolate cake, complete with fourteen purple candles, because she noticed Sara never wore anything pink.
Bill was good at history, and helped her write her essays for AP Euro. Marjorie was surprisingly athletic for her age, and taught Sara how to throw and hit a softball, so she wouldn't embarrass herself in PE.
They were delighted when she told them she joined the science club, and when she brought home her report card at the end of the semester, it went straight on the refrigerator, held up with a magnet that read, 'Way to go!'
They did fun things on the weekends like visiting Alcatraz and the California Science Center. On Christmas break, Sara went on her first-ever vacation, camping in Mammoth Lakes.
She was constantly surprised by Bill and Marjorie. She had initially thought their enthusiasm would be exhausting, and would only wear on her, but instead, they lifted her up when she didn't even know she was down. They were old enough to be her grandparents, but theirs was the first home since Mark and Julia where Sara felt like she was there because someone wanted her to be.
She kept waiting, waiting for something bad to happen, waiting for Bob to show up and tell her she couldn't stay there any more, waiting for Bill and Marjorie to tire of a hormonal, generally shy and bookish fourteen-year-old girl. She couldn't help herself. No matter how stable and happy they continued to be, she didn't allow herself to fully trust that it would continue. That was who she was.
But they never did.
And Sara prayed every night – to whatever powers there were – that it would stay that way.